


My Life

by ImNotTwistedImSpiral



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Almost Stockholm Syndrome, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, How Do I Tag, Kinda hero shredder, TMNT, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - Freeform, befored mutated bradford, but also not really, but not really, homeless bradford, kinda Stockholm Syndrome, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNotTwistedImSpiral/pseuds/ImNotTwistedImSpiral
Summary: There is a reason Chris Bradford is so loyal to the Shredder.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is old but... Yeah. I hope you enjoy anyway!

I was just twelve years old when the Shredder found me on the streets of Japan. My family had moved there when I was just seven. I was a relatively happy child with both loving parents until one night, just before dawn, I heard my mother screaming in terror. Me being only eight, it didn’t occur to me that she was in dire trouble along with my father, so hesitant crawled out of bed and crept cautiously to the their room, fearing there was a spider in their room. I hated spiders.

Nothing could have prepared me to see my mother sprawled lifeless across the width of the bed, blood gushing from her neck from a slit throat, and my father wrestling a masked man in black clothing to the ground. My father was winning when the masked man took out a knife and stabbed my dad in the stomach then jerked to disembowel him with sickening splatter which jolted me out of my shock and I ran away like a coward.

During that time, I scavenge for food or stole it, just trying to survive on the street as an orphaned child until one day a I was in a dead-end alley rummaging through the garbage can and a man, reeking of booze, stumble into the same alley I was in. At first, his mind being clouded by the whatever he bathed in beforehand, he didn’t see me, but his eyes finally focused on me after a second or so. 

He half-smiled at me, sending a few shivers down my spine. I kept thinking that maybe if I stood completely still, he would leave me alone, but the sorry, daytime drunk wasn’t having any of that. He walked towards me like a cheetah stalking his prey. I knew if I’d ran, he would have caught me, even as drunk as he was. I was only twelve and he was much taller than me. 

Finally he stopped right in front of me, a little too close for my liking, and leered down at my boyish form, asking if I knew Japanese. I shook my head because when my parents died, I had just started to learn. I knew a few words, but not enough to hold a decent conversation with a fluent speaker of the language.

“You have pretty blue eyes,” he said. I could do nothing but stare at the drunk as if he was insane, even when he caressed my face with his finger in an almost loving way. Suddenly, he tilted my chin towards the sky and tried closing the distance between us. I freaked out then, pushing the much stronger man away but to no avail. He pushed me back against the reddish brick wall and kissed me, hard. His hands roamed over places that I hadn’t even touched myself. He began taking off my ratted, old t-shirt I had found at the dump. With my struggling, it was really difficult for him to do so to the point where he finally just ripped it off. When his hand reached down to pull the fabric of my filthy jeans down, a voice boomed something in Japanese and the man released me to look at him. They were both blocking my way or I would have fled because I didn’t know if this new man was a friend or foe of mine.

After a heated conversation in Japanese I couldn’t understand, the handsome Japanese man, whom looked around to be in his late twenties, who made the drunk release me took the drunks hand and flipped him over his shoulder in a clean swoop. The drunk, too wasted to get up and defend himself, just laid there. Making the other man look at me. I froze and took a step back, trying desperately to gain some distance between the strange man and myself. The man spoke something is Japanese and I furrowed my eyebrows. He probably realized then that I had no clue what he had just said. 

“Are you homeless?” he asked. I nodded. “Well, if you are going to be spending your moments out here, you should learn how to defend yourself. Come.” I wasn’t sure if he was legitimately going to help me or if he was tricking me. No one on the street, homeless or not, has ever help me or treated me kindly or spoke a soft word. But as he walked away, he never once looked back at me to see if I was following, which made me think that he was truly one of the good guys I’ve only heard about, so I followed him. He fed me and gave me a place to stay and taught me the ways of ninjitsu. I learned a lot from the man. 

However, he was a little abusive to keep me from straying from the path he laid for me. I remember like it was yesterday. I kept messing up a kata Master had shown me. I just couldn’t seem to get it right. It was very upsetting for me because I knew what would happen if I didn’t learn it quickly. 

“You show lack of discipline. Perhaps, I should teach you once more,” Shredder said and with that, he kicks me in my jaw and broke it. After that, I practiced the kata day and night after my jaw healed until it was perfect then showed Master Shredder. He didn’t say a word when I was done but I could tell he was pleased. I knew, because of his strict teaching method, I learned at a rapid pace, earning the title Prodigy from Master Shredder. He might be abusive to help you learn, but it works and I owe the man my life. The least I do is give him my complete loyalty. After all, I had no one else to depend on-- no family, friends. 

So when I turned 24, I had completely mastered the art of ninjitsu, so I packed what little belongings I had in a small suitcase and moved to the Big Apple, where I eventually became a world-wide celebrity for my martial arts, and the same kata I had trouble mastering became my trademark, calling it the Death Dragon. Thanks to Oroku Saki.

Years later, Shredder found me again and demanded I become a member of the Foot clan. I must admit, even as a grown man, I’m afraid of Oroku Saki, so I accepted. He told me we were going to build an army in New York City, where I lived, to kill an enemy of his that was training his own army of ninja. 

He was different from the last time I saw him. He had a burn on his face and was blind in one eye. I asked him why he sought vengeance on this enemy and told me that this Splinter person took his beloved Tang Shen away from him and then killed his daughter’s mother. I understood then why Master had such a vendetta. His hatred for this Splinter was completely understandable, but Master Shredder seemed off somehow. Once, I did something wrong and he put me in my place, but it wasn’t like all the other time with just a slap or punch or kick. I thought he was trying to kill me, even Karai is afraid of him a little. 

But I guess that is what hatred will do for such a good person as Oroku Saki. He saved me from a life on the streets, from being raped. He taught me martial arts. He is the reason why I’m a celebrity now. I’m rich and made my dreams come true because of him. So whatever Master Shredder wants me to do to kill those turtles and their evil master, I’ll gladly do it without question. It’s the least I can do. I owe him my life.


End file.
